If Love is Gold then it's Dirty and Broken
by LLCoyote
Summary: (Title subject to change) Jade and Beck have been back together for a few months, but can the arrival of a new girl be enough to shake apart their tenitive new start? Can you love someone you think you hate? Can severed ties ever really come back together? And is there more to the people you know than meets the eye? And can time make love fade? JadeXOOC JadeXBeck ToriXOOC femslash
1. Do you believe in hate at first sight?

L

Well, long time no see cookie monsters! I can tell you I've been busy, but that's a lie (sort of). I can blame my absence on a lack of laptop, but that also isn't the whole truth. The actual truth is I've been astonishingly emo about Victorious ending. I don't get vamped up over shows often, especially not enough to write fanfiction. It's very hard for me to really think it is over, because I loved it so much and now I can't see Liz Gillies and drool over her on a regular basis. I want you to read and remember this as you read. This is an OC story. The reason being I don't want to write from a male (Beck) point of view, and what ideas I have had for Cat or Tori, have either been exaggerated by me, or other writers on here. I wanted to try something different, which will seem ironic when you get into the story. I said all of that to say this, I DID remake the improv scene at the beginning. I DID recycle the plot. BUT I did that for a couple of specific reasons. First, if this is my, 'keep Victorious alive in my heart' story, it's going to be MY version, MY story, and I want to start it over from the very beginning, rebirth it with my character, and I thought this would be a charming way to do so. Second, and not very importantly, almost EVERY fanfic writer for Victorious has rewrote this scene at one time or another, especially in Bade stories. Damn it, it's my turn.

I should take this part to warn about the sex right? Sex, underage drinking, maybe mild drug use. Yada Yada. Some of the sex will be relativity soft core, others might push the limit. Keep in mind, the sex will not happen until AT LEAST the third chapter (I just lost a shit load of readers there) because it would be stupid and meaningless if you cannot understand Áine first, at least on an elementary level. This is one of my main characters, and I'm very close to her because of all she represents, I hope you like her too (Not that she would give a fuck)

IF YOU READ NOTHING ELSE READ THIS! The name Áine (from what I gather) is Gealic in origion, as well as my characters family (that's beside the point). It is pronounced On-ya or AAN-YAA in phonetics.

L

* * *

_Love is the only gold._

_Alfred Lord Tennyson _

_xxx_

I can't think of any place I actually enjoy more than Hollywood Arts. Yes, the people get on my nerves, half of the assignments are stupid, and only two of the seven vending machines in the entire building work. Despite all of that, this place has brought as much 'happiness' to me as I think I'm able to feel. It's become a part of me over the last three years, either that, or I've become a part of it. As time drags on it gets harder to distinguish. Because the essence of this school _art _is the core of my own being. I have always been an artist, since the day I was born. Maybe not in the respect of holding a paintbrush or singing a tune, but instead I was artistic in spirit. The desire to create something new, be someone different, and to stand out in the world is something I believe I was simply... born into. I doubt I could have avoided it if I tried. That's why Hollywood Arts is probably the closest thing to home I have, because whether I like the individuals or not, they congregate together and breathe what feels like actual life, and a kindred spirit into these walls. On my less... temperamental days, I like to sit in the middle of the Asphalt Cafe, feigning disinterest and soaking in the atmosphere.

Today, that energy seems especially strong, but it doesn't surprise me much. It's Friday and everyone is chomping at the bit for the day to be over. No doubt they just received the same, mass message on TheSlap that I just did. Exactly a week from today, a big party is being put on by one of the rich students here, and it's an open invite. Absolutely everyone, excluding myself of course, is buzzing with excitement. That ferocious energy is currently being focused into their individual art forms, and shrouding the the place in a beautiful shade of chaos. Across the Cafe near the parking lot, a small group of dancers and rappers are huddled together during our lunch hour, all trying to improvise to the beat what ever musician starts playing. One of our smaller choirs is rehearsing everything from scales and warm ups, to a few recital songs near the doors back into the school. Those groups are by far the most obvious of the practicing artists but they aren't the only ones I notice. From Andre playing his keyboard, to the girl running lines at the coffee bar, and even to Beck, standing a few feet away from our table reading over a script, there isn't a single detail I miss. I may not do happy but at least I can say it lulls me into an emotionless (and more importantly not angry) state of being.

A slender hip knocks against me as Vega slips gracelessly into the seat beside me, and immediately, my relaxed mood curdles in a wave of annoyance. "Sorry about that." She chimes dismissively not bothering to look my way. Within a split second she's knee deep into a conversation with Andre, and I just don't care enough to do anything but grunt and gather my things up to leave. Normally I can put up with her, and at times she is sort of... not horrible, but not today. I won't risk her ruining my mood and stirring up a fight with her that will lead to a fight with Beck because 'I'm too touchy'. Normally I wouldn't walk on eggshells for anyone, but Beck and I have been treading thin ice for the past few weeks. I never once thought when he came up on that stage and pressed his lips against mine that getting _back_ together would be so incredibly awkward and difficult. Alone, we seem to do just fine. He can ignore my idiosyncrasies in private, or when they're directed towards him. The problem is alone time couldn't be more scarce right now and in a group, our relationship has become disgusting odd. He tries to avoid scolding me for angry tantrums by ignoring me all together (unless we're kissing) and I try to avoid angry tantrums by... well avoiding everyone. All I know, is that I don't want to loose him. The compromise I have to go through in order to keep him is ridiculous, but it's better than being alone. Besides, we do love each other... I think. I know we _used_ to love each other. I figure that feeling just takes a while to come back. You need time to get comfortable again and once you have that, the warm, safe feeling floods over you and you realize it's love all over again. Just like the first time.

Beck raises his eyes from his script for a moment to look at me curiously but his silent question of 'where are you going?' is met only with a roll of my eyes. He doesn't attempt to stop me as I breeze by but he does mumble something about catching up to me before lunch is over. This time I don't mind, I know he isn't staying because Vega just got there, but because he's been completely obsessed with that damn script for a week now. He landed the part of Hamlet in the school's production of Hamlet, and I've never seen anyone have to memorize so much crap in my life. Someone seriously needed to tell Shakespeare to trim the hedges and get to the point because honestly, I'd rather watch 'The Lion King' with Cat than sit through that entire play... and the story line is exactly the same (well, minus a few singing animals). I shake my head, trying to physically shake the thoughts bouncing around my skull away. My hands press against the warm metal of the front doors, shoving them aside and pushing my way into the hall. Not a single person tries to block my path. Most will attempt to ignore me completely, and pray I don't take individual notice of them because when I do, it's never to give a friendly gesture. My locker is a ways from the Asphalt Cafe and by the time I reach the main hallway the crowd has thinned out to nearly nothing. A few scarce souls clomp down the echoing hall to their lockers, but they leave just as quickly as they arrive. I'm the only one that stays, sitting beneath my locker, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, laptop on my upper thighs. An episode of iCarly is replaying on the screen, but I'm not paying too much attention to the girls. I like them, but I'm not in the mood. I don't even know why I turned it to this site. With a grunt of frustration I slam my laptop shut again. So much for my attempt to not be agitated. My head lulls back against the locker behind me and my eyelids slip down, blocking out my vision entirely. Maybe the peace and quiet will soothe my temper

There is no time to test that theory though, because no sooner is my vision distorted completely by the thick, black covering of my eye lids, does Helen's voice echo boisterously through the hall. "Now we're back in the main hall. Down that hall is most of your acting classes, that one over there will take you to the Asphalt Cafe if you turn to your right, and to the Black Box Theater if you go left... and well, that's about it." She announces loudly. I hear her heels against the tile making a shrill clicking noise. As of yet, I've gone unnoticed and I can't begin to describe to you how much I want to stay that way. Helen and I have never gotten along. She is fine I guess and Tori says she's scared of me, but I still don't like her. I don't even need a reason. Her heels are getting closer to the corner beside my locker and the distinct sound of rustling paper can be heard with them. "Sikowitz, alright his class is down this hall on the left. It's three or four doors down... I can't remember. Maybe it was on the right." The moody principle grumbles. Her shadow blocks the light from the hall as she turns the corner, uncomfortably close to me. Her toes practically jam into mine, nearly tripping over my outstretched legs. My resolve breaks and I open my eyes.

The world quickly comes into focus, shaded by the shadow cast by Helen. "Jade!" She practically shouts, waving her arm a bit as to steady herself, "I didn't even see you there. Pull those long legs in will ya?" I can't tell if she's joking or not, but she turns to leave all the same (and my legs don't even twitch). Mid-step, Helen freezes and turns back toward me. Those curly black locks on her head bob at the abrupt change of direction. A look in her big brown eyes reveals a firm, disciplinary glower that contradicts the welcoming body language she's trying to portray. The smile on her face looks more like the bared teeth of a mad hyena than the friendly grin she means for it to be. "Actually, I need you help me out with something. This is..." Again the principle pauses, this time scanning the hall way with those intense eyes. She disappears behind the corner momentarily, but comes back too quickly for me to make a run for it. I sit there, still and surly, hoping that if I tolerate her, she'll go away. My lips are in an involuntary scowl, twisted uncomfortably and pinned against my teeth. Under one eyetooth, I trap a piece of my own gum and roll it between the ivory rows. Unlike the easily provoked wrath everyone else gets from me, I try to give at least minimal civility to our principle. Mostly because I can't afford to loose my temper with her. Last month Helen kicked a kid out for rolling his eyes at her. I'm not saying that she intimidates me. It's just easier to tolerate her changes and orders than to oppose them and risk loosing my place here. Speak of the Devil, her thick figure rounds the corner again, tugging a much smaller body beside her. Her face is marred by shadows cast by the lights behind her, and my current position on the floor. It is clear she's female, by the dramatic sloping curves of her body. I don't recognize her, but again my vision is severely compromised by the angle I'm looking up at her. It even distorts the details I can actually see. I'm currently eye level with the tops of her brown, knee high boots that cover her dark jeans. There is a copper chain hanging loosely from the top, supporting a brass ring on each boot. "This is Áine." Helen explains in a falsely excited voice, "She's just joined Hollywood Arts and this will be her first day. Could you show her around?" The words beyond, 'This is Áine' don't sink in. I was right, I don't know her and despite popular rumor I'm very interested in the new comers. They always offer something worth at least a few minutes of my attention. Most usually, someone to cruelly laugh at as they stumble through their first few days here. Curiosity gets the better of me and I begrudgingly shove off of the floor, my eyes traveling upwards slowly in the assent to her face. Her shirt is a simple, sleeveless, dark purple tank, with a loose, sheer white V-shaped covering over the top. By the time I'm standing firmly on my own two feet, I have to look down to make eye contact. She's maybe an inch shorter than Helen, probably six or seven inches shorter than myself.

I'd like to say that she was ordinary, or that there was really nothing different about her, but honestly I doubt I'll ever forget matching eyes with her the first time. I knew right then and there... that I wanted her gone. Her large, round eyes were two different colors. One grey and one lavender, both slightly covered by her glasses which are nearly square for the eye pieces but twist and loop, unevenly on either side. But it wasn't as much her eyes that soured and surprised me, it was her make up. Her left eye was covered in three separate shades blue makeup that extended out past her eyelid and onto her temples in intricately painted feathers. Tiny purple diamonds floated up from her thick eyeliner, to nearly touch her perfectly trimmed brow. The other eye was similar in design but painted in red and orange jagged lines and instead of diamonds, dark black squares were falling in a loose triangular clung, drifting below to touch her cheek. The rest of her face was done up normally. Foundation was applied along with subtle pink blush, to try and feign the appearance of natural color over her pale flesh. Dark mascara and red lips should have hardened the long curved hairs and subtly bow shaped mouth... but compared to the rest of her, they seemed perfectly balanced. She straightens her shoulders with a quick, tension loosing roll and my eyes travel down her neck to her ample, exposed upper chest that her top didn't cover. There, her natural skin disappeared once more with a large white fan of peacock feathers, outlined in black and each baring the markings of a playing card. Both of her slender arms and hands were coated in elaborate henna, and proved to be a strange contrast of style to the other images. From shoulder to finger tip the heavy, semi-permanent ink painted complex pictures. The left arm consisted of shimmering golds and darker browns that formed a small lion on the back of her hand, and what looked like woven grasses paired with sharp flowers up her arms to a yellow sun on her shoulder. The right was a arm length snake in red, brown, and an even darker brown, that nearly appeared black in the poor florescent lighting of the school hall. The serpent coiled down her arm to the back of her hand which was a large cobra's fanned out neck, I could only assume her palm was it's face. It's dull scales were filled with patterns every bit as baroque as the other limb. Her body was much more ink and paint than it was skin. It was all newly done, and every inch I saw only agitated me more.

I'm no stranger to body art, and neither is H.A.. There are plenty of kids in this school with tattoos and piercings. It's one of the few schools in LA that will accept kids like that, granted that they have exceptional talent. But none of the people here look like this. There is only one reason people paint themselves like a gaudy canvas, and that's because they're desperate for attention. People like that can barely pass as artists. With her fake glasses, and colored contacts, she only further proves my point... and I can't stand her. I've known her for two seconds and I want to throw her out a window. I haven't been this angry in a _very_ long time. I have no time for over rated, fake attention whores, I barely have time for the people worthy of my attention. "Jade!" Helen snaps, trying to pry my unmasked glare off of the new girl. I turn the infuriated gaze her way and in the most blunt, angry voice I can muster without yelling, I tell her exactly what I think. "No. I don't have the time to baby sit, and even if I did, I wouldn't want to." I hiss moodily, twisting away from the pair and starting to walk off. Quick as a cat, Helen blocks my path. The principle's eyes narrow a bit, and her smile is so forced I'm sure an ounce more pressure will break her teeth. "Would you give us a second," Helen snaps with that same smile, not bothering to look at see if the new girl responds. She practically shoves the slighter girl away, causing her to have to place her hand against the wall so she' won't crash into it. I want to laugh, or at the very least snort at Helen's heavy-handedness and the indignation 'Áine' must have suffered, but I don't get any time to do so. Before I have the chance to even twist my scowl into a smirk, Helen's powerful hand grabs hold of my arm and physically pulls me away. Her face hovers so dangerously close to mine I can feel the heat of her body. That heat grows stronger with every irate puff of air she expels. I can smell honey and sugar on her breath as she hisses in my ear like a prickled roach, "Let me make this simple, you show her around today, make sure she doesn't get lost, and I'll take away every detention you've got coming to you and if _not_ I'll give you in school suspension for two months."

True, that sounds simple enough, but there is a part of me that wouldn't waste a second telling Helen to shove it and give me the suspension. Anything besides playing welcoming committee to some artificial no body who probably won't make it more than a few days here. The heat of my breath tickles my upper lip, and the sound of quiet, swirling air is the only one I make for a few moments. Helen doesn't make a move either. Like two wolves staring each other down, both sizing up their opponent, prepared to fight and neither willing to back down... But in the end it's my eyes that sharply break our contact, shattering our mental stand off and admitting defeat. "Fine," I mumble, switching my harsh gaze to the new girl. She's watching the two of us with wide, calm eyes. Eyes that linger on my own for more time than I care for them to. Why is she just staring at me? A prickling pain shoots up from my palm to my brain, but I don't unravel my fingers and remove my knife-like nails from the flesh. Attempting to keep peace, Helen steps aside, fully confidant that I will stay where I am. She waves Áine over casually with a flick of her wrist, "Let's try this again. Jade, this is Áine. Áine this is Jade. She's been going to school here for three years. If she can't show you the ropes no one can." The new girl's stained hands grasp each other in front of her stomach, and I can see her awkwardly fiddling her fingers. "Well, I very much appreciate that." She says in a unelevated, almost melodic tone. There isn't any shrillness in her voice like most girls, instead it's low, calm, and measured to appropriately fit the situation. As if she hadn't already reached the deepest bottoms of my exasperation, scraping her flamboyant features against the rock flooring, she sinks lower by using a thick (and most likely fake) Scottish accent. It's strong enough to make me mull over her words once to twice, just to make sure I've understood them right... and that pisses me off. I scowl again and turn on my heel. The black and green locks of my hair glide through the air and settle behind my shoulders, moved by the abruptness of my actions. "If you're coming with me, hurry up." I grumble, weaving through the thickening crowds of people and not bothering to look back. Her footfalls fall in step behind me, though she has to make two steps for every one of my long strides. _It's going to be a very long day._

_~wmvmw~_

Sikowitz's class is practically empty when we trudge through the door. The sound of our feet echoes off the tile in the open space. I begrudgingly take a seat near the end of a row and put my bag in the next seat over so she would be forced to look for a place somewhere else. I'd more or less done what Helen had told me to do. Maybe I didn't show her around the whole school or make friendship bracelets with her out on the lawn, but I got her to class didn't I? Áine doesn't seem to care, those obnoxiously mismatched eyes blink a few times and then she simply takes a seat on the opposite side of the class, showing my uninviting message has been understood. The bell still hasn't rung but people are starting to file in. The ones that sit down behind Áine don't even seem to notice she is there. We don't get many new kids and those that do come drop out and run screaming from the madness that takes place inside the walls of our irregular weekday home. Some stay, ducking low until they can find a cluster of low standard losers interested in the same shit they are or like Tori, coming in guns a blazing and managing to make friends because of a moderate amount of talent coupled with a pretty face and sweet disposition. For the most part, people tend to stick to their own groups until they're approached as to not deal with the headache that a new comer almost always is. As a result so long as nothing seems too strange about them, new kids are generally ignored. But the people who walk past or in front of the redhead take no time realizing that there is something weird about her. And they don't even have the couth to pretend they aren't staring openly at her. Still, she doesn't respond. The closest she comes to it is shifting her eyes to blankly stare back at a boy who's eyes linger longer than she wants. The shared gaze seems to snap him back into reality and he swings back around in his seat.

My agitation is growing stronger by the second. The fact that she is annoying me… only annoys me more. I shouldn't let this show off, no body effect me, and I shouldn't think about her at all. What do I care if people are paying attention to her? A lot of attention. I rationalize that it bothers me because they're giving her what she _wants_. The little attention whore has gotten her way, and she hasn't been here all of an hour. The bell jars my thoughts and takes me by surprise. I avert my eyes from the window I've been glaring out of just to quickly see if everyone is still fawning over her. I could have sworn that out of the corner of my eye I saw her look away but she was too quick for me to really tell. She fixes that same fake smile over her face and in an equally disgusting tone she responds to a girl who dares to try and speak with her. I don't pay attention to the words the new girl says, but what ever they are, the other seems offended and quickly finds a place to sit very far away from her. No one else attempts to talk with her from that point forward and I feel a almost… happy because of that. Pretty soon the stares will die down and her little side show appearance won't draw the looks she so desperately craves.

"Who's the redhead?" Beck asks from behind me, tapping my shoulder with his palm as he removes my purse from the chair and plops down gracelessly where it had been. I had been so focused on the bubbling cauldron of fury in my head, I hadn't even heard him approach. The feeling of his hand is what registers first, before his words, and I force myself not to flinch. Startled or not, I don't like to seem easily unsettled and I maintain control over the nerves that tell me to hop in surprise. He rests his forearms casually on his knees and leans forward, trying to draw my eyes away from the window that I'd resumed glaring holes through. "What am I, a newspaper stand?" I snip, meeting his gaze hotly. Tori chimes in next, sitting down in front of me with Cat by her side, "Hey, who's that ov-" Her sentence stalls when she gets a good look at Áine. "How should I know? And would you **quit** looking Vega." My teeth grind together as I speak, and any trace of a good mood I once thought I had this morning is gone for good. Robbie and Andre repeat the same obnoxious question as they file in, just in time for the second bell. This time I don't even bother answering. The 'it'll all be over soon' mentality I was clinging to only a minute ago is taking way too long. Vega and Andre are talking in hushed whispers, pondering who should be the first to go over there and Cat is already half way out of her seat to answer that question for them. Of course it had to be Cat that goes over there. Cat, who isn't put off by anyone and believes there is good in every person. Cat who is so impressionable. Cat who is the most polite and likely to invite her into our group. _**Fucking** _**_Cat_ **who every one likes and will listen to which will end up with us spending too much time around that little… poser. Yes, poser. It may be an outdated phrase but really I don't know anything that is more fitting for her. My blood is rushing loudly around my skull, and my lips release a sign of further agitation. I would scream about now but I'm far too preoccupied eves dropping, as is every other person in the classroom. The room is dead silent. Of course Sikowitz has to be late today.

"HIIii." Cat sings, waving her arm obnoxiously, "I'm Cat." She stops to point at herself with a goofy grin that causes my toes to curl tightly into the sole of my boot in irritation. Her pointing hand turns toward us as she finishes, "Those are my friends Tori, and Beck, and Andre and Robbie… oh and that's Jade!" I can't see Áine's expression from where I am, and I try to force myself not to care so much. For a split second, I take a deep breath and wonder if I'm over reacting. She hasn't done anything to me and we've barely spoken a word to each other… No. I inwardly scold myself for letting my mind think such idiotic thoughts, and it shows outwardly as my body tenses further upward against my chair. No I'm NOT over reacting. Hollywood Arts is a place for _serious_ artists. People with a desire to create and perform. People who are going to change something or make something new. Our art is supposed to have depth. The attention we get may be nice, but that isn't what we're here for. Anyone who traipses in here looking like… well like that, is doing this for attention and it's perfectly justified that she pisses me off. She's like Vega on steroids. " I've already met Jade." Áine says after a small silence, "She escorted me to class. It's very nice to meet you Cat." Her tone sounds a little more sincere but still rehearsed to me. Her accent grates against my nerves until I'm prompted to roll my eyes from annoyance. My fists clench tighter in the same aggravation but I seem to be the only one who notices that tone. Tori smiles widely and leans forward in her chair, "Dude… is your accent for real?" "I highly doubt it." I seethe, but no one hears. Maybe Beck does, because he visibly sighs before deciding to ignore me again. "So are you like Irish?" Vega continues, a big, moronic smile pulling at her face. She's liking this too much. Of course she is. She's _Tori_. There is a small, almost unperceived, second where Áine's face turns into an exasperated glare but she quickly hides it with a smile, "No. I'm from Scotland. Born and raised. My family moved here only a few weeks ago." I've got to hand it to her, if that is a fake accent (and I am still convinced it is), she really has it down.

A low, throaty groan leaves my lips. This time I don't bother acting like she _isn't_ on my nerves. I figure they're all still too preoccupied to realize. "Please don't do this." I hear Beck mumble, trying to appear as though he _isn't_ picking a fight with me. "Do _what_?" I reply, malice lacing my tone. The trigger on my anger pulls back and clicks into place as I prepare to fire straight at him. The fight doesn't progress, luckily, because the door flies open with a loud 'BANG'. Sikowitz practically dances on our tiny classroom stage. Surprise, and a strange sort of relief, effortlessly disarm my aggression turning my attention to the barefoot hippie onstage. In his saggy, multicolored pants and layers of tattered jackets/shirts, our teacher looks more like an insane homeless man than any sort of professional. His unkempt hair is sticking every which way, and his toes are constantly kneading at the carpet below. I'd be surprised if he'd even showered this morning... but I'm way out of the 'smell zone'. "Alright all of you crazed, wild, young youths, shut your pipes and put your eyes on me!" He says loudly, wiggling his hips unattractively. With a confused grunt, Andre takes a moment to try and tell him young and youth mean the same thing, but the mad man is already on a roll. "First off. I'd like to introduce our new student -A- A-in-e? Where are you -Ai-ne?" He trips badly over the pronunciation, and ends up calling her Eye-nee. His hand makes a visor over his eyes as he dramatically scans the room. Áine raises her hand for a second, just barely long enough for Sikowitz to notice. "It's pronounced On-ya." She corrects him sharply… but Sikowitz is barely paying attention to what she is saying. He lets out a loud gasp when their eyes meet, "Jiminy grasshoppers!" The teacher pauses and looks at her in what I assume is shock, which prickles me again, "Do you know you have lipstick on your tooth?" He tells her quite plainly, then jabs a wrinkling finger into his own eyetooth to demonstrate a point. When the new girl wipes her fingers across her mouth, he returns to actually paying attention to his class, like everything is completely normal. Well, at least he isn't giving into her rouse. "Alright, new girl you've got a lot to catch up on… but I believe in learning by doing. Soooo, Tori and Cat get up here… New girl, what are you doing? Come on! On the stage." He bosses, pointing everyone to their position. Sikowitz apparently remembers my fiasco with Tori from before, and does not invite me onto the stage. He is right in his assumptions, because I was planning on humiliating her just like Tori, only this time it would have worked.

"Alright, I'm going to yell start and you girls are going to improvise lines and actions. Do you know what improvising is?" He asks, but gives no time to answer, "It's making up your own lines and actions. So, you're improv-ing and everything you say must be a question. When one of you FAILS you'll pick someone from the audience to take your place." He explains, plucking a round coconut from his pack. Áine's eyes widen at the sudden, quick burst of information and I'm almost inclined to laugh. I want to see her fuck up so badly that I can't stand it. Without giving them any time to absorb the information or adjust to the situation, Sikowitz loudly continues his instruction, "Cat! Start!" Cat seems stunned (and clearly off in another place), blinking twice before breaking into a big silly grin. She turns her big brown eyes toward Tori, rocking absentmindedly on her heels. "Why is the sky purple?" She asks, and I'm not entirely sure if she's acting, or sincerely asking Tori a question. The brunette gives a mundane response, and the scene begins to progress. Sadly, the new girl seems to fall into step, though she stands there stiff, calm, and totally not invested in the scene. I wasn't wrong, she's a total amateur. The scene picks up pace, wildly switching subjects until Cat confuses herself and says something about giraffes. "CAT! GET OFF OF MY STAGE!" Sikowitz yells, making tears well up in the eyes of the overly emotional redhead. To appease her, the teacher pulls out a nickle and tosses it her way. It seems to soothe the savage, crying beast and she lets out an excited squeal "Now, Cat, pick someone to take your place." The older man instructs, before shoving the straw to his coconut inside of his nasty mouth. "Kay Kay. Ummm I choose Sinjin!" She exclaims. As always, there is a brief moment of silent disbelief in response to what ever she says. "Um... Sinjin isn't in this class Cat." Beck tells her, and this seems to put a total damper on her mood. Her tiny shoulders slump and she heaves a loud, dramatic sigh. "Fine... Well," Her lips twist in thought as she looks around the room. When her big, brown eyes skim over me, I muster up a rather convincing smile. It visibly makes Tori squirm, but Cat doesn't think anything of it. In fact she waves to me, like it's the first time we've seen each other today or something."Ok. Jade!" A slender finger on her tan hand points dramatically toward me, if it'd been a gun she'd have shot me clean between the eyes.

I wasn't about to question _how_ I got so lucky, I just dropped my purse and shot up from the uncomfortable plastic chair. Beck grabs for my hand, but I casually sidestep his hold and send a glare in his direction. He's clearly mouthing the word 'please', which I'm guessing is him begging me to be nice. His efforts are defiantly in vain though and I clomp up those two stairs onto the stage ready to do my worst. Sikowitz, without disconnecting the straw from his mouth, has pushed Áine over by Tori near the middle of the stage, and much closer to me. Vega shifts like a nervous bunny, keeping herself between the two of us, as though it would protect my new target. I'm not sure exactly how I plan on getting her to run out of this room and never come back, but I'll do what ever I need to. "Why don't we all-" "Exactly, _what_ are you?" I interrupt Vega, stepping up into the space both girls are occupying. The brunette backs down, but the redhead doesn't shift or change her demeanor at all. "How much time do you have to hear that story?" She says with a stark chortle, turning her eyes toward Tori. "How about we all sing a nice song?" Vega says with a nervous smile. "Aren't you curious Vega?" I snip, ignoring her statement and keeping eye contact with the new girl. Seeing as Tori doesn't say anything, I figure she either agrees, or is waiting her turn. "Um... Sikowitz, is this even acting?" Andre says with a brief wave of his hand. The scraggly man doesn't answer at first but after a few gulps of milk he nods, "As long as it's a question." His hairy feet bump against each other in a preoccupied manner, before replacing the straw in his mouth and looking to us. My attention also shifts back to the task at hand, as my fingers stroke the hilt of my scissors that have been hidden in my skirt. I would just stab her with them, but then I'd have to go to prison, so maybe I'll call that plan B.

Áine quite casually steps around me to look at Tori, "Is she always this pleasant?" Angry heat flushes over my face, and the same feeling makes my fingers burn and tingle. Her mis-matched eyes steal a glance in my direction. She looks so... interested and amused. How exactly is she coming out with the upper hand. The odds need to slide back into my favor. Now. Before I do something stupid by loosing my temper. Tori responds almost immediately, without thinking, to Áine with a sneer, "All of the time. Wait- ugh! Darn it. Ok, um... Robbie come on up." I almost wonder why she doesn't pick Beck but I figure it's only because she doesn't want to be caught in the middle if we were to fight. Robbie practically skips on stage, "How are you lovely ladies?" Clearly, he's trying to be charming and he is even more clearly failing. "How does it _look_ like I'm doing Robbie?" I hiss, unable to stop my temper. Is he flirting with her? Seriously? Aren't he and Cat pretty much a thing? My teeth grit against each other, making a low, muffled grating sound inside my head. It does nothing to soothe my temper. "Must you stand so incredibly close to me?" Áine asks with wide eyes, stepping closer to me to avoid Robbie. Obviously, she is unconcerned I'll seriously do anything to her. Robbie, caught off guard, doesn't know what to say, but instead of giving up, he simply changes subject. "Sooo, how come your eyes are different colors?" He says boldly; rudely. I hear Sikowitz cough on coconut milk and Tori shouts out to Robbie in a scolding, embarrassed voice. Even my eyes grow a bit larger in surprise. Áine looks to me, unsure if we're taking turns or if this has turned into a free for all and while I hate to give her any reassurance, for the sake of my pride I have to say something. Her pale fingers sweep over the raised ink on her arm as she waits and finally, I have an idea. It isn't a great one, but at the moment it's all I've got. My boots clomp loudly against the steps as I head back for my seat. Beck's skeptical eyes lock onto mine, unsure of what I want."Why don't you tell Robbie aaall about your eyes?" I grunt with disinterest, snatching my messenger bag from the floor. "Why should I tell any of you?" Áine asks, but the words lack any depth like she doesn't care if we know or not. Her interest appears more focused on not being bested on her first day. As I straighten back up on the stage, standing as close to _her_ as I can bare, my fingers touch the tip of exactly what I was hoping for. They tenitivly slip around the tiny tube of aerosol makeup and press it up into my loose sleeve, but I continue to rummage through my bag, pretending to look for something else. In the mean time Robbie has made some stupid comment that I wasn't paying attention too and is promptly replaced by Beck, who doesn't waste time getting up with us. "What are you doing?" He asks in a completely exasperated tone. I just shrug, "Can't I look for my water bottle?" It's meant to sound innocent, but I'm sure everyone knows I'm up to something... besides Sikowitz. Fuck that man is oblivious...The cap of the small tube in my hand pops off soundlessly when my thumb jabs under the seal and I convincingly snatch a bottled water out. The soft sloshing sound of water is promptly interupted as I twist the lid, delighting in the lovely crack of the seal. A sound I'd rather hear if my hands were wrapped around the neck of the amateur to my left. My bag drops carelessly to the floor, just missing my own foot and after a swig of water, the bottle also falls. All that is left now is a small tube of thick, black makeup, meticulously hidden in my sleeve. I have only used this once, but I know it's a bitch to get off. I bought it for that stupid audition video I made for Helen... and no I haven't cleaned out my bag since then. For once, my sloppiness doesn't come around and bite me in the ass.

The two of them carry on for a couple of moments without me. She asks something about why it was so important to get my water bottle right then. Beck asks something random about owning pigeons, and I seize the opportunity to push into the conversation. "Could I see your one of your arms? How long did it take you to paint them like that?" I ask, mustering up my sweetest smile and fingering the exposed top of the make up. Beck looks incredibly uneasy, but Áine looks taken aback. "Do you like it?" She asks, skepticism laces her tone as she eyes me like a mouse does a sleeping cat. Still, she lifts her arm to show it to me. "What's not to like about it?" Beck asks, noticeably staring my way. Gingerly, my fingers curl around her lower arm. If I applied pressure, I am certain I'd feel the hard sharp bone under her warm, soft skin. I tilt her way, inspecting the art work with a toothy grin. I can't help but wonder _who_ had done it, because I don't believe for a second it was her. If I wasn't pulsing with frustration and adrenaline, perhaps I wouldn't come to that conclusion so quickly. My dislike for her has convinced me that she most likely, has no talent in any way at all. It isn't so crazy to think, they do let _**Trina**_ go to school here. I continue to stare at the swirling, painfully detailed pictures, fighting back a malicious grin when I remember I'm about to ruin them. "Do you know what would make this better?" I ask, shifting my gaze to match her's. "What's that?" She asks slowly. Her arm wavers, and she begins to pull it away but I drop my gentle hold on her arm, quickly shifting it to grasp her wrist tightly. The thick, black ink spreads up her arm and almost to her elbow before anyone can think to stop me. She wrenches her wrist away from me before I can do more damage and there is a look of absolute shock on her face. It's worth the angry, heated glare Beck sends me as Sikowitz calls him off of the stage for yelling at me to stop. The teacher's eyes scan the new girl, unsure of how to handle the situation. Those obnoxious eyes stare right into mine, and I straighten up a bit. "Don't you like it?" I practically sing, rather proud that I managed to pull it off. Sikowitz steps between us with raised hands, "Maybe we should call it a day girls. The bell is about to ring in... twenty minutes. So really class is practically over." "Why should we stop? Do _you_ want to stop _Jade_?" The redhead quickly replies, and when my attention turns back to her, she doesn't seem so shocked anymore. I can't tell if she's angry, or what the hell presses her on to stand right up to me, but I sure as fuck didn't expect it. Tori had run out of the classroom in tears, but Áine recovers in seconds. The twisted smile and darkened expression on her face makes me think that she isn't really talking about stopping the acting challenge. "Regardless!" A frustrated Sikowitz snaps, " I think we've gotten the point of... this particular game. Why don't you two sit down?"

_~It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know it has begun.~_

_~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~_

She didn't leave Sikowitz's class, despite my prompting. It had to be getting on her nerves, from my seat across the class I'd seen her reach over and stroke the inky surface with tender fingers. Beck was so angry and embarrassed he didn't speak another word to me for the entire class period. No one else dared look my way either. I'd turned our favorite class into a sort of battle arena for the second time. Sikowitz would let me get away with it. I knew he would. He simply resumed teaching to the best of his ability, hoping the class would relax and get back into the flow.

Which it never did. We've sat here for twenty minutes listening to him ramble on about nothing, despite how desperately Robbie and Tori try to put him on topic. An audible sigh of relief escapes my lips when the bell rings. If I'm lucky I can get out of here before Beck realizes I exist, and gets pissed at me. Not that I care. He can shove his lecture right back up his ass because I have reached the point where I'm too pissy to care. Right now, I need a minute to myself. But I barely pass the threshold of the classroom before I feel Beck tugging me off to the side. His tan skin is flushed from his emotions, giving it a reddened tint and when he speaks it is in a hiss so sharp, I think I'm talking to a snake. "I _seriously_ don't know what to even say. What the hell was that?" He says, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. Again, I feel the prick of my nails as they embed into my palms as I try to keep a neutral face. "Look at her!" I defend. My whisper comes out much more boisterous than his and he squirms when a pair of eyes drift our way. "Yeah, I saw. Since when do you just judge people on how the-..." Beck's statement comes to an abrupt halt and his eyes leave our heated stare to look past my shoulder, "Hey um... Áine right? Can I do something for you?" I almost smack him. I've never smacked him, but I swear I almost did. "You? No, but the principle told me Jade would show me to my classes today... and I can't seem to remember where my next class is going to be." The redhead says in a very calm voice. She's only a couple of feet behind me, unconcerned for her safety. Beck's face couldn't possibly contort any more than it was right at this moment. Anger, fear, frustration, and embarrassment tug the strings attached to his facial muscles, pulling them into a painfully insincere smile. His laugh, sounds more like a cough, "Maybe Tori or Cat could show you. Jade's um... tired or I could even show you." A large hand slides past my side and behind my back, returning with a crisp piece of paper. In a second, I snatch it from him. There is no way in hell I'm letting this little bitch traipse behind **_my_ **boyfriend, flipping her hair and blinking those annoying eyes while he just lets her flirt with him. "She's right." I snip, "Helen did tell me to show her." Beck's brows fell down in a crease over his dark, coffee colored eyes, "I don't think that's a good idea." I'm sure he's absolutely certain I'll kill her before we get to our next class... and who's to say he's wrong?

But my mind keeps replaying that look of shock on her face, crisp and clear as a mountain stream. The repetitive snap shot reappears every time I blink, and soothes my anger just enough that death threats are off the table for now. No matter how hard she tries to act like I haven't bothered her, I know that I have. Her fingers dancing along the ruined patterns during class reassured me of that even more so than the look on her face. Knowing I've at least put a chink in her armor allows me to relax ever so slightly. I lean onto my hip and poke to the appropriate time on the schedule. "She's in our next class too, you're more than welcome to walk along with me." I huff, grasping his hand. It's warm and humid from the swell of emotions he's been riding for the past half hour but I don't really care. He doesn't follow straight away, not until I give his arm a tug, leading the small cluster of people behind me to our destination.

Mr. Hedison's classroom is on the other side of the school, making our tiny group try weave through the massive crowd of people at an alarming rate so we won't miss the bell. It would be easier if the girls weren't standing in the way to ogle Beck, and the boys didn't all want to say something to him. People tend to give me a lot of space, yet they're drawn to Beck like bees to spring flowers. While most would rather look the other way or take a step back to allow me ample room to pass, no one gives that a second thought with him by my side. Everyone seems to be under the impression that Beck can save them by controlling my putrid temper... but I swear if they don't get the fuck out of my way today I'll prove them wrong. Multiple times throughout our short journey, I'm obliged to look back and check if I've lost the new girl. Even a second's glance at her causes my lip to snarl up ever so slightly in irritation. For such tiny legs, she keeps up pace with us without visible strain and even manages to look graceful. Every time I turn around to check, I'm greeted by her eyes. Her head stays forward, posture straight, and chin slightly up. From what I see, not once does she attempt to look at anyone else. People filed out of her way without her asking and unlike us, she doesn't once move around someone else. She just _expects_ them to get out of her way and clearly they respect that. I'm not sure if that pisses me off or I kind of like it.

We arrive at the classroom just in time, thanks to the mass of people insisting on saying 'sup' to my boyfriend. It is a blessing in disguise today though, and I don't let it get to me for once. The bell chimes in its annoyingly loud fashion and Mr. Hedison is ushering us quickly into chairs with his stern stare. In response, the classroom falls silent in a matter of seconds. His cool eyes stare impatiently from his current perch, in an office chair near the white board. While we're on the subject of our current teacher, it's worth pointing out that he's probably the strangest teacher here at Hollywood Arts... but not in the conventional way. Stanley Hedison is weird because really, he's very normal and that just doesn't fit into our lives here. He is the primary history teacher here. The type of guy always wearing a cardigan of a singular, muted color over a crisp white button up dress shirt. His thinning hair hasn't yet started to recede and every strand on his head as been combed backwards into neat, proper submission. He's never raised his voice at us, never had a rip in his jeans or a snag in his sweater, and he's most certainly never once been in trouble of loosing his job here for behavioral reasons. Quiet, reserved, intelligent, well mannered, and neatly put together, Mr. Hedison would more appropriately star in a Mr. Roger's spin off than spend countless hours stuffing the creative juices of artists back down their throats until they managed to vomit out historical dates or papers. In spite of his manners and quiet voice, he's one of the most feared teachers in the school. After 32 years, his entire career, working in this place, he's cemented his position in the school. He oversees most of the detentions he gives out, stays in creepy close contact with our parents, has high standards for the work he doles out, and demands complete obedience from us... We all fucking hate him. I'd set him on fire, if I were that type of sicko.

His thin finger points to Áine, then wiggles, calling her to his side. She doesn't hesitate. Her body slips past me through the close quarters of the doorway, knocking me from my internal dialog, which allows me to find a seat. For once, I choose the front of the class. The two long fore tables, each with four chairs, are empty and quiet. A ghost town of seats compared to the chattering rain forest that is the back of the class. Wendy Claireborne used to sit up front, but she moved away and the lonely plastic hasn't felt the warmth of an ass since. My memory of Wendy, a tall, wiry girl with massive lips that practically cut her face in half, causes me to scoot two chairs away from her abandoned spot. I can't put my finger on why, but the picture of her face plastered across the inside of my eyelids every time I blink is creeping me out. The not so silent scratching of the chairs behind me clearly says I'm on my own up here. Not even Beck is going to brave it. A flash of red catches my eye as the new girl leaves the teacher to take a seat somewhere behind me and not even a split second after she disappears from my line of site does Mr. Hedison start one of his painfully boring historical rants. Low, almost inaudible whispers tinkle in the air behind me, quiet as tiny bells. Very few words are clear enough to make out by the time they reach me but picking up bits and pieces, I'm able to get the general point of what's being said. Beck is apologizing, Tori is explaining our relationship status, Cat says something about pancakes, and Áine doesn't really join in at all. What she does say, I can't grasp as it's cloaked by her thick accent. Time seems to pass at an agonizing rate, and the more I focus on the conversation of whispers behind me, the slower it goes. Apparently I'm still incredibly jealous, touchy, aggressive, the list of negative adjectives doesn't seem to stop. Cat is the only one in my corner, every once and a while piping up to say I'm not that bad... sort of. I shake my head and rest my chin on top of my palm. _Maybe if I stare at Mr. Hedison, I'll actually pick up on what he's saying... Nope. _

"Class projects. Each of you will be assigned a country, I want a minimum of five pages on it's historical background and the global significance that it has now." The teacher says rather loudly, "You will be working in pairs of your own choice but, since we have a new comer, I'm going to let her choose first. Ms. Moore, who would you like to partner with?" My hand clenches in anticipation, and I desperately try to make it seem like I don't care. I don't want to care, but I can't help but shake the horrifying thought that she'll pick me out of spite, or plain stupidity. She hums for a second, pretending to mull over the decision, and when she does speak up, I can practically hear the smirk in her voice, "Um, Beck. I'd like to work with Beck." An awkward laugh, followed by the sharp snap of wood is all I can hear. The first was from Beck, the second, from my now shattered pencil. I'm only going to say this once. This bitch does not know who she's fucking with.

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L

Bare with me one last time folks, because if you like this, and you wanna keep reading... I think you deserve a warning. Chapters will alternate between point of views, Áine's point of view dialog is almost drastically different than Jade. Understand that Jade isn't stupid, or unable to use eloquent words and things of that nature, but their personalities are what cause this difference. Jade is very to the point, Áine can be kind of... scattered, in her way of thinking. So, in the words of Scar, "BE PRE-PAAAAARED" for the next chapter.


	2. The Meaning of Infatuation

**Hello lovers of hippo cheese and fig juice! Sorry it's been so long. I've had some very serious family issues that have really taken a toll on me. It made me consider stopping this story and writing all together... but what sort of good would that really do me? So I'm back, and I promise as soon as I figure out how I'll continue this story. I've messed up my pacing with this chapter, but... I can fix it x.x just give me a change to figure it out. As Rarity would say "THERE'S NO OTHER WAY!" *door slam***

**Anyway, here is another heads up about how different I feel the writing is. This is probably where you'll decide whether or not the story is for you. I'll admit Aine rides some strange lines as a character, and I hope you get the gist of what I'm trying to convey. If you have any questions feel free to ask. Also I'm always very paranoid that the online/book reading I'm doing on Scottish culture is wrong. You know seeing it from a view point that's too American? So if your Scottish or you are familiar with the culture, feel free to leave a review or privately message me if I butcher something or I'm just not understanding something important. **

**Sorry it's short, but "THERE'S NO OTHER WAY!"**

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_**~Every artist dips his brush into his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.~**_

_**~wmvmw~  
**_

Moving from Scotland to California sounds completely logical. In fact, given the choice between the two places I'd bet about 80 percent of people would choose the latter location as the place they'd prefer to live. The other 20 percent consists of three types of people. The first, hard core, patriotic people whom actually live in Scotland. The second, fans of Scotland who've never been there and have no idea what it actually is like. Third and finally you have people who have lived there all of their lives, and wouldn't have a clue what to do with themselves in warm, sunny California. That last category, by the way, is right where I fit in. Now that isn't to say I'm not a patriot, or I don't love my country. No, far from it in fact. I have had a long, passionate, and deep love affair with my homeland for as long as I can remember. From the large cities, to the little towns and then to the countryside and sprawling forests, everything here, beautiful and ugly, pleasant and unpleasant, is dearly loved by me. I love it because it's my home, and even in the coldest highland winters, my home has always been warm and filled with affection. But my adoration isn't nearly enough to make me plant my feet into fertile soil and rear back like a spooked horse. Fear has a way of holding me back with a much stronger grasp than love. Because doesn't love remain? Even when you are far from it, doesn't love linger and spring up fondly as spring flowers in our hearts, no matter the place or season? Yes, I know that as well as, if not much better than, anyone else.

All that holds me to this land is fear or the unknown. Strange to think, because I've never been a coward. If anything I'm ignorantly bold and moronically hard headed. I can't count the times on my hand that I ran from my mother in busy town fairs, or as I got older, took trips to England, or Italy, or France all on my own. This fear, bordering on terror, is an entirely new feeling for me, and I can't seem to master it. Perhaps it's because I've never been to the States in my life. Even when I've heard of them, the information never really stuck, probably because I had little desire to go there. If you can't tell, I highly romanticize my country, and Europe as a whole. Because of that, information on the Americas was something I heard but didn't process. Take an obscure state you've never been to and you'll understand my position. You hear of it, you learn it in geography class, but you can't be entirely sure it exists, because it isn't at all pertinent to your life. So hear I am, uprooted from all I know, being plunged into a place that's entire existence had never been really confirmed in my life. And to take things a step further, as if going to California from Scotland wasn't a big enough culture shock, my father decided to take us from an extremely rural setting and plop us right into the heart of Hollywood. Well, perhaps 'the heart' of Hollywood isn't the right choice of words, but it's quite close.

I grew up in a village. Not a town, not a city, a village. I lived a whopping 17 years in a tiny village away from the large crowds of civilization. My mother was eccentric to an extreme. She didn't like cities, or traffic and she didn't like TV or computers, at least not in her home. Her issue with them was simple enough. All of those things, in the eyes of my mother, drove a sharp stake into the heart of family life, and the regard my mother held family moral in, was radical in the least. Most of our time was spent together, and we were always to be doing something 'productive'. We were not to have any part of the massive throngs of people shuffling down busy city streets or the dim, artificial light of a TV. (As I've said, she was quite eccentric), rather a controlled, quiet environment where we could learn in the most efficient manner my mother could find. This wasn't a bad thing really. If not for my mother's extreme belief system, I doubt I would have a half of the skills I had. I certainly wouldn't have learned to play the guitar had it not been for these strict rules. There was nothing that ever distracted me from painting, and I was allowed to indulge in hours of this favorite hobby of mine. Over all, as a result, we were a very odd family in the eyes of our community, but we couldn't have been more close or well rounded young people.

Though independently wealthy, both of my parents were well respected, high on the ladder politicians, and traveled a ludicrous amount of time into Inverness on a daily basis. Honestly I can't say I ever took enough interest to know much beyond that. However the city isn't exactly crawling with politicians, so I could guess despite her disdain for them, my mother worked with computers on a regular basis in order to communicate with her work and keep from moving out of our home. These facts seem very random, but there is a good reason for telling them. This should all be noted so that you won't immediately stereotype my family as the poor, rural, Scotsmen with a herd of 12,000 sheep in our backyard. We had a sheep once, for like two days, my father thought it would be cute to bring home for Easter holiday (This was when I was about ten, and my family fell under some strange pretense that we'd suddenly found religion… which lasted about at long as the sheep). I don't really know what happened to the poor lamb, all I know is that my mother gave dad a look that could burn a hole straight through his skull, and it disappeared within the month. The only reasons we lived in a small village, in the middle of no where, on a couple hundred acres of land, was because we had the money, and my mother put a very high price on privacy. No one from the news was ever seen lurking in our trash or snapping shots from the bushes. It's entirely possible that didn't happen because no one cares that much about politicians, and it's also likely we wouldn't have been stalked or flocked by the press if we lived in the city but my mother either didn't dwell on such possibilities, or she didn't believe they could be true.

All of that is basically just to give an idea of where I come from. Rural area, small village where everyone knew everyone, and few friends my age. Most of my time was spent with my family. So if you take into consideration all of that, it's a bit easier to see why I have a bit of an aversion to the sun soaked hills of L.A.. It sounded nice in theory, on some freezing spring morning after I'd come in soaked to the bone with rain, miserable and cold from a morning run. I was in the process of trying to force a brush through the wet, rapidly matting hair of my dog when I heard my father's voice booming from the next room, "Wouldn't it be grand if we lived somewhere it didn't rain all the time?" An indignant snort fell off my lips before I could even think to stop it. "Indeed. Where should we go? The desert?" I'd bit back quite sarcastically. There wasn't a single bone in my body that was actually serious. What did I care about the rain? Aside from our vacations, I scarcely left the country. Cold, rainy, unpredictable weather was just a part of life. How could I hate something when it was all I knew? "Too much sand. I say somewhere nice, where we haven't been to yet. Like the States. Charlie- do you remember Charlie?- right well he moved somewhere out there. Says it's warm. I'm tired of being so damn cold" He'd half mumbled, half grunted between bites of what ever he was currently eating. I had no idea this was anything other than normal, idol complaining. Such petty whining isn't special or singular to my father, or even my family in general, it's a global human condition and that made it incredibly easy to just blow off. I think I mumbled something about turning up the heat if he was so cold, before slinking off to the shower. When I realized my dad wasn't really joking about taking up a job there, I nearly went into shock. It was a decision he made without asking me, or any other members of the family and the announcement was more of a proclamation than a subject open for discussion. He simply lumbered into the house one day (A couple of months after the original 'conversation' we'd had), piled high with boxes. Four burly men trailed a few paces behind, their names escape me, but I believe they were from one of the near by towns. That was our announcement. We were really leaving behind our beautiful, green hills, towering forests, and frosted mountains for the sizzling sun and roasting asphalt of LA.

The only alternative was to go live with my aunt Heidi and I wasn't nearly upset or frightened enough to do that. You don't know her, so you couldn't possibly understand how dreadful her offer was. A mean, thin woman with bird like features, she reminds me very much of an old, dying crow. Her loose, dull skin like worn feathers, her hook nose sharp as a beak, and her voice, the annoying, high pitched squawk, grated and broken from years of smoking. She's never proven herself anything less than entirely disturbing and macabre in the worst way to me. My uncle was the one we were blood related to, on my mother's side. I'm not sure why he married her, he doesn't seem to like her any more than we do. On any given day, I can walk straight through their door and see them doing the same thing. Uncle Rob snoring in the arm chair next to the muted TV, and aunt Heidi dictating aloud some horrid Edgar Allen Poe tale. She never gets bored of his work. No, I'd follow my father to Timbuktu or Siberia before laying a suit case down past the threshold of her dilapidated, colorless town house.

After about a week or so, the shock slowly started to bleed into anticipation and excitement. I quickly realized that I didn't want to be here either. While abandoning the world I'd known my whole life, I was getting out of this horrible house. This beautiful, old house of wood floors and stone walls. Where open space is heated by the warmth of a fireplace and where sun or moonlight creeps slowly from the frames of long, tall windows, across the rooms to touch everything with feather-gentle caresses. Our family house, which my mother had founded with my father, and in it's walls she birthed all of her children, raised a family, and then died in when I was just past 14 years old. For three years we planted our feet in the ground like a hoard of stubborn mules and not painful memories or the whispering of village people could spur us onward out of this terrifyingly lovely 'home'. We knew, we could all feel it. This wasn't a 'home' any more. It may as well have been burned to cinders because there wasn't a thing in it we could cherish or love without bitterness and pain seeping through. Why did we stay so long? I suppose we thought that if we refused to leave, time would dull down the sharp edges on our memories, and we wouldn't feel so haunted inside our own damn walls. How brutally mistaken we'd been. Three years, and nothing helped. Not time, not therapy, and not our constant threats of redecorating that never came to fruition. If I really think about it, moving to Hollywood is probably the most ingenious thing my father has ever come up with. It's practically a polar opposite from our current lives, putting miles of rough, choppy ocean waters between us and the past.

**_~wmvmw~_**

_**~"One day you will do things for me that you hate. That is what it means to be family."~ Jonathan Safran Foer**_

_**~wmvmw~**_

My father decided we'd take a boat… because he apparently hates flying (and comfort). What should have been less than 24 hours on a plane, would take us days on a boat. Fuck do I hate boats. Everything rocking lurch of the waves seemed to yell, "Go back you moron!" but we continued to press forward. Sea sickness pills were popped like candies and if I strayed five inches from a rail or wall I was nearly pitched off of my feet. To be fair, despite my sickness and lack of proper footing, I suppose it wasn't all bad. It was a nice boat, quite like a cruise liner, but smaller and much more private. Every day, standing on the deck and looking at the seemingly endless seascape around us, I could feel the weather changing. By the time we docked in California, I'd gone from a turtle neck and a thick jacket, complete with gloves and boots, to a tank top and jeans, hair knotted up off of my neck. I never really have had time to adjust to the weather. Every time I step out my door I feel like a muffin in a baking tin. The sudden urge to simply tear off every article of clothing on my body, comes far more often than I'm comfortable with.

The last days of summer, when we arrived, progressed hurriedly into fall. I can't give you too much coherent information on what happened during this time. It all happened too fast. The easiest way to convey the state of my life at the time, was chaos. Moving boxes, crying children (my siblings), fast blurring cars, and the constant sounds of the city buzzed around me, as a ghastly, annoying tune inside my head was about all I soaked in. Really it was too much. All of it. I used the words 'culture shock' earlier and couldn't have been more accurate. It was all I could do to keep up and keep my family functioning. My father is terrible at that. He prefers to roll with the wild madness instead of try and control it, which means if any sanity was to be had in our new, highly modernized California beach house, it would come from me. This isn't atypical, it's been this way since our mother passed along, and I'll touch more on that later if need be.

I manage stress with amazing proficiency, especially for someone my age. That isn't bragging, by the by, it's just a fact. Situations where my father lapses into a wild man, flowing along with madness, have been my area of expertise for years now. I believe I used to worry, I used to stress and wring my hands together, I used to pray to a new deity with every new problem, hoping it would be different this time, that they could help. I'll let you in on a wee secret, no one can help. When everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off, someone has to step up, and in my opinion there isn't a damn reason for anyone to wait around and believe others will solve problems for them. It's a shit lesson to learn, don't get me wrong, but I'll not sit here and lie about it. The truth is, you have to rely on yourself first. This is the exact logic I applied when coming to California and in only a short time, life felt less like a vase in an earthquake. We'd done it. We'd survived the transcontinental move and were steadily pressing toward the unknown, with a bit more courage than when we began.

By the end of the month all four of my younger siblings had been placed in appropriate hands for the school year. Yes, four. I'm one of six children, because my mother must have hated her vagina… and sanity in general (I can't think of any other reason to do that to oneself). I'm the eldest girl, followed by my sister Jesse who's seven, and then the three boys, Donald, Duncan, and Doug, five year old triplets. God have mercy on my poor mother. She'd had three children already, and been going for her fourth and final, but she ended up with two more than she bargained for. Especially considering how we all turned out, the three wild banshees that are the triplets and the eccentric artist that is me. The only good child she ever really had is Jesse. Sweet, adorable little Jesse who didn't tear off her dresses and climb on my father's hunting trophies or lapse into long periods of silence, holed up in a room, painting for hours, sometimes more than a day (I'm quite obsessed with painting, and sometimes I forget myself when I work). My mother needed Jesse, or she'd have probably eaten us like a spider eats it's young… along with my father for good measure. I have an older brother, if you're counting correctly but you needn't count so carefully, because he doesn't matter at all. He isn't here.

The only person who's future was up in the air was my own. I'd gone to a play in the late summer at Hollywood arts, and had become quite smitten with the whole thing. It also helped that the principle didn't immediently slam her door on me when she got a good look. In retrospect, I probably should have washed off my paint and covered the rest with makeup as best I could when asking for an audition from the principle of an elite preforming arts school… but I didn't. Oh well, hind sight is twenty twenty isn't it? Instead of setting up a meeting, I mailed in a tape. I did so anonymously. The last thing I wanted was for people to point at me and bitch about how they only let me in the front door because I come from money, and my father is working for the government. I could practically see the scandle online, followed by my prompt dismissal from the school.

By the time I was buying school supplies, I'd given up on the silly dream of attending Hollywood Arts, it'd been over a month with no reply. Not that I blame them. Honestly, I've never done a shred of acting, and I dance with the grace of a two legged giraffe. If it goes beyond the skill of acting interested in a conversation, or mindlessly moving in a horde of people on the dance floor, I can't do it too well. But I can sing quite pleasantly, and have elementary skill on the guitar so it's not like I'm talent-less in the 'performing' arts, even if I am much more skilled in arts like writing or painting. As the time ticked closer, the bitter sting of rejection grew stronger, and I had to force myself not to care. Once I was resigned to forget about Hollywood Arts, I got a phone call, because that is exactly how my life works. Can you hear the exasperation? I sincerely hope so.

I only got a brief tour of the school. Helen isn't much taller than me, and not to be rude or critical, but she's much larger than I am… but fuck can that woman hustle. Her warm, soft hand had a rock solid grasp on my wrist, yanking me along. She was the steamboat, tugging me forward into the harbor of the school where I was to soon be discarded. Grumbling complaints rang off inside my own head, facetious thoughts that I could barely swallow about how I didn't get half of what she was telling me. If she'd only slow down a bit, and quit pulling my arm out of it's appropriate socket, we may actually get along. Her skin has long since started to dampen with sweat against my painfully crafted designs. The henna on my arms alone took hours, and was less than a week old, but I couldn't muster up the bitchiness to inform my new principle that extended exposure to her menopause sweat and hands that squeeze like a juicer, will shorten the life of my precious creation. After an eternity of pulled limbs and bitter inner thoughts, Helen had finished my not-so-helpful speed of light tour. I readily snapped my arm against my upper body as soon as possible, so she wouldn't feel the urge to grab me again… How did I get caught in the first place? I honestly couldn't remember. I believe it started with a handshake though.

Not paying the least amount of attention to her surroundings, Helen was practically tumbling over something before I had the chance to round the corner and help. Almost instantly I felt myself being dragged, yet again. The mild whiplash caught me by surprise, and I was left to stupidly reground myself. "This is -Aine." Helen said with faux excitement, introducing me to what seemed to be, in my confusion, a row of lockers. Were those baby bottle nipples on one of the doors? I'm not one to criticize art… but someone needs therapy. "Could you show her around?" Helen only pretends to ask. Her arm gives me a little shake and I finally lower my eyes to the ground… and that was it. Those four words and a simple lowering of the eyes is where the story starts. The -real story. My eyes blinked in a couple of rapid successions then began staring in the most unobtrusive way possible. I carelessly let the rest of the world fade out around me. Helen's words weren't really sinking in anymore, and I couldn't have been less aware of anything else in the hall. It's a horrible habit I've got, but I'm very single minded when I see something that catches me eye. Like baby bottle nipples, or the languidly stretched out figure of a young woman beneath me. And there, sprawled out across the floor, glaring up at me with devilish intensity, was one of the most beautiful women I'd seen in my life. She looked very much like a crouched black leopard, furious, and waiting for the chance to get her jaws around my neck to squeeze the life out of me. Just like any stupid tourist on a safari, I stared with idiotic fascination.

From her clothes to her posture, and straight to her facial expression, every thing about her seemed agitated by our presence. She was screaming without speaking: "Leave me alone." And if only I could. It sounds quite sudden, very cheesy to you no doubt, hearing my immediate fascination laid out like this. If only I could properly explain in a way that would make you understand. Unfortunately I cannot. I can't describe to you the tight, nervous feeling that fluttered up inside of my gut, or the sudden dryness of my lips. There is no way I can tell you how flattering I found her figure, her demeanor, and how horribly I wanted to touch her right then and there, to make sure she was real. You couldn't understand that at the moment I first saw her, she seemed very much like an apparition in my foggy mind. Though I should, perhaps, explain what I can that is easily understood… that this isn't the first time this has ever happened to me. I'm not lying, nor exaggerating how beautiful she is, everything I say in this story will in fact be true, and has been true up unto this point. What should be noted, however, is that I'm frequently struck with infatuation. It's strange, because I didn't get this behavior from my family nor my culture, both are usually quite modest. In fact the latter is very religious in most parts. I'm not sure why this happens to me, and I don't particularly care, because I rarely stop to think about it. I can't think about it. I'm far too consumed with lust and intrigue.

Before you start to think I'm some horrible stalker, the way I word things makes this sound much creepier than it really is, but that is another thing I can't fully explain. My interest in the women I become suddenly infatuated with is rather harmless to anyone. It comes to an abrupt end when I have gotten to know them and usually have sex with them. Which I do far more often than I probably should. It isn't about the sex, please cement that into your brain. I don't glance at a woman or a man and think about how much I'd love to see them on their back. I'm not that type of person at all. It just tends to happen. My interest in the beginning is solely about information, I want to know who they are. Sure, there is some innate appreciation for how they look, but it isn't ravenous lust or anything close to it. Yet, somehow, that rather innocent physical attraction and interest in their personality slowly, imperceptibly to me, morphs into a deeper attraction. It becomes a game to see if I can get their attention, and they look more and more beautiful the more they accept me. Then, almost without intention, I find myself in bed with them.

This first moment I saw her would be the start of a little… game for lack of a better word. I promised not to lie, and so in painfully honest truth, I can say that is all these people are to me. It isn't so horrible is it? Both parties seem to enjoy it. I never try to deceive people into believing my affection is anymore than what it really is. And this isn't really a game in the sense that you're probably thinking. This isn't a game of sexual conquest, just to see how many people I can possibly sleep with. No one is being used and tossed aside like rubbish and it is not some egotistical pursuit to make me feel important or attractive. There is no one getting hurt or walking away feeling cheap. That would disgust me completely. I simply don't have time nor patience for relationships, yet I can't stand to be alone. This playful back and forth between me and whomever has caught my eye has satisfied me for years. I've never really thought to change it, in fact I'm not sure I could. How can I willingly stop doing something that I have no memory of willingly starting? This game isn't about control, because I clearly have none of that. At least not over my own impulses.

Something about her was incredibly interesting to me, I couldn't put my finger on it. Helen nearly slammed me against the lockers to have a not so private conversation with the dark beauty. Something about detention, suspension, I couldn't really make it all out, because I was still staring at the younger woman. She was wearing a large green button up shirt and dark wash jeans. A black and grey bag was slung casually over her shoulder, and her eyes kept drifting from her discarded laptop, to Helen, then to me with obvious hatred Hate that I couldn't truly feel. I have the most difficult time processing how other people feel about me. It isn't about rebellion or being 'cool'. When I tell you I don't care what they think, it's because it really doesn't matter to me at all. What matters is what -I think about -them. That is interesting. And I instantly thought quite highly of the foul mannered girl not five paces away from me. Jade. Helen would soon tell me her name was Jade, and she'd speak the name like a cuss word. 'Jade'. I wanted to know more, I wanted to politely start a conversation with her as we charged towards the classroom, but she very clearly wasn't going to allow that. She didn't want me anywhere near her. The seats around her were blocked off, and she glared at me, daring me to ask her to move… which I did not. I would have to be content on silently observing her, racking my confused brain for what I'd done to make her hate me so instantly.

She made me slightly nervous. I abhor admitting to that. It wasn't really fear, just this prickling, unsettling feeling that buzzed around in my stomach. I tried to place it. Her temper wasn't the issue, I've known plenty ill tempered people and while they'd love to know they make you nervous, there isn't any real reason to fret their ire. Perhaps it was her experience? She was a 'veteran' as Helen had said… but no, that wasn't it either. If anything that made me feel more at ease. The feeling nagged at me until I boiled down to the correct reasons. The way she looked at me, and the way she looked period. Her eyes told me to just lie down on the floor and die. I've never had anyone hate me that much that fast, and it's unsettling, because I haven't a clue what I'd done to her. The latter reason was far more concerning to me though. She was very beautiful and even more beautiful in the sense that she was completely aware of how lovely she was. She commanded her looks completely without self-consciousness or doubt. The problem wasn't that I'd never liked a beautiful woman, as you can probably tell they've been my downfall on more than one occasion. Nor is it to say I think I'm ugly or comparing myself to her. However I couldn't help the nagging feeling I was shooting a bit out of my league. This wasn't someone I could buy over with complements and smiles or (if I was extremely desperate) actual money and gifts. How do I talk to someone so entirely beyond my reach? The question would drive me mad if I continued to dwell on it.

People poured in on us. Most chose not to talk to me… opting to stare like cows stare at unfamiliar water, wide eyed and stupid. One girl said something to me, it was a very casual sounding remark that covered up obvious judgement. I barely looked at her when I responded, and cared so little that I don't remember what I said at all. It probably wasn't too kind. I'm rarely kind or even cordial when I'm distracted. My eyes tore off of Jade for a while to look at the room. It was much different than the school I'd come from. It was a bland local school that my mother had hated when she was alive. She wanted me to home school and even said once that she'd buy a computer and let me do school off of that, if I'd just quit going to the run of the mill local school. It was a great school, I'm not sure what she had against it. Nothing like this place, but as far as wee country schools with low funds and few teachers go, it was ran very well. I already liked this place better though. Everyone seemed busy and excited about being here. Colors and art work were carefully applied to the walls and floors. The entire atmosphere buzzed with creative life, and excitement.

Somehow my gaze wondered back to Jade without my knowledge and it wasn't until her fierce glace snapped toward me that I realized I was even looking. I don't recall really thinking about her, I'd been too busy thinking about the school. By now, Jade had a cluster of friends that didn't look anything like I'd expected. In most schools (and I know for a fact this isn't Scotland centric) goth kids stick with goth kids, and everyone seems to be neatly divided and categorized by the things they're wearing or interested in. Jade's friends didn't look anything like her. A lovely tall Latina caught my eye for a moment, then a beautiful redhead, the attractive boy that slid into the seat beside Jade, daring to move her bag without permission, was most probably her boyfriend of the time. Dread locks and an award winning smile were the first things I noticed about the next one I looked to… and was that a puppet? Yes, it was a puppet, perched like a parrot on the knee of a nerdy looking fellow with glasses and curly black hair. The puppet took more than a few minutes to get over, and I made a mental note to avoid that boy like the plague Their names came next, rolling off the tongue of the enthusiastic 'Cat' who had somehow intrusively made her way into my personal space as I was looking the gaggle of teens over. They were the strangest group of friends I'd ever come across. But who was I to judge… well, minus the puppet thing. I had every right to judge the puppet thing, it was weird.

Some inevitable chit chat followed. Tori, the thin, tan skinned, leggy girl asked about my accent. Is that a California thing? You wouldn't believe the amount of people that stop me after two words to say, "Dude are you for real?" Odd, because you'd think in a city crawling with a thousand nationalities, that it would be fairly normal to run into someone with an accent. I tried to answer quickly and get off of the subject, the whole generic conversation of "Where are you from" "What's it like there" had always been a little disturbing to me. Especially since I don't know these people. Can I even trust them with this information? Probably, but I'd still rather not get into it. Jade stayed completely detached to the conversation, or so it seemed to me. She'd said something once but it was under her breath and the classroom was noisy. I hadn't heard. It bothered her boyfriend though, making him squirm in irritation. I briefly wondered how that relationship worked. They didn't regard each other with the lovey dovey high school googly eyes. I shook that thought though, it really wasn't my business.

The door slammed open and broke the commotion in the room. All eyes turned to the man prancing on stage. Hadn't I seen him outside a couple of hours ago yelling at a trash can? Yes, I'm fairly sure this was the same guy. I suppressed a laugh at the very image of him. It would have been enough for my mother to pull me out of here by any force necessary when she saw he wasn't wearing shoes. He pronounced my name wrong, it was written on the inside of his palm, and he stared at it for a second before butchering the pronunciation I shouldn't get angry about it. My parents apparently looked for the weirdest way to spell, Onya, and made that my name. It still bothers me though, because I know good and well I'll have to say my name another twenty times before he can read it off a sheet of paper without fucking it up.

I was still seething about my name, and the fact he announced to the whole room I had lipstick on my tooth, when I was being shouted on to walk up the stairs to the stage. Without any idea of what or why I was getting out of my seat, I obeyed. He was talking too fast, just like Helen had, and now I was side by side with the two girls who'd come up before me. Tori and Cat. That was their names. The scene started, and I seemed to be going painfully slow… but this was my first time acting since a Christmas play when I was five. Considering that, I wasn't completely horrible. My fellow redhead, the cheery, smiling Cat, was enthusiastically feeding lines to the two of us. They didn't make a lick of sense. I think her friend Tori even had a tough time keeping up. Finally, Cat tripped on her own tongue, and was asked to take a seat. My mind had been miles away from Jade, but when she stood up with squared shoulders and a confidant smirk, I found my concentration on the scene slipping. Why was she smiling all of the sudden?

Tori was a mess of nerves as the first rude statement flew from Jade's lips. What am I? I wasn't really sure what that meant. I am a person… is there another answer to that question? It felt much deeper than that though, it felt like I should be very insulted. True to my nature, I didn't let it concern me long enough to understand the meaning or be stung by it. I didn't really have time. The scene was moving rapidly, and Tori was already headed back to her seat. It was starting to feel constricted in here, and the look in Jade's eyes promised malice that only made me curious. After all, what could she really do? I didn't for a second think she was a psycho or that I'd be hurt. Puppet boy, or Robbie as Cat had told me, took a position way too close to me on the stage. I don't like it when strangers get into my space, and I think I let that show. My eyes undoubtedly widened to saucer like proportions. He was flirting with me. I'm enough of a flirt to know without a qualm that someone is trying for my attention… and he wasn't even a little bit subtle. The second I put him off, he asked something intrusive about my eyes that made the rest of the crowd gasp and scold. Honestly, I didn't care and I'd have told them if I could have put it in a question.

Jade disappeared from the stage, but I didn't notice. Robbie was too distracting. I was enveloped in this strange exercise and firing off responses with little forethought I didn't come out of this little trance until I felt her sizing me up. When had Beck gotten up here? I wasn't paying attention. Was it nervousness or excitement I was feeling when she began to flatter my art work? Both, but more so excitement. If I'd been just a little more apprehensive, she probably wouldn't have succeeded in grabbing a hold of me. I knew the moment her gentle hand wrapped around my forearm that I needed to pull back, but she was faster than I was. It took only a second, and my art was ruined. I'd spent hours on that arm. My lovely lion was now devoid of a least a third, if not half, of his sun soaked savanna that had been crafted up my arm so intricately. I think I'd rather her hit me. I felt I was spinning all the same. How do you respond to something like that? Cry? Scream? Hit her? A shudder pressed it's way uncomfortably down my spine and in that same shock, I forced myself to calmly level my gaze on her. She was beaming with happiness. Prouder than that damn lion, and every bit as fierce. 'Pathetic' her eyes taunted. She was confident that I was done. That I would be so upset I'd just turn tail and run. Except for the teacher, the classroom was quiet. He wanted us to stop, but I refused. Out of all the things I am, a looser is not on that list. I don't handle failure well.

Mr. Sikowitz insisted we sit down, so I tried my best to walk straight and keep a cool head. My fingers kept finding their way to the arm and touching it. I remember being completely livid, but also very amused. An odd combination of emotions. They seemed to fight with each other. Anger would swell in my chest, then some awful, masochistic sense of humor would toss a thought in the air, and the anger would retreat for a few moments. All the while I remained still and ramrod straight in my chair until the bell released me. By then, the furious bitter emotions had retreated permanently from my mind. After all, how could I possibly complain? I'd wanted her attention, and I'd gotten it hadn't I? No reason to throw a hissy fit or start being picky. At least now I had a window to communicate without seeming awkward or odd. And it was blatantly obvious what she didn't like about me now. Well, sort of. I knew she didn't like my art. I wasn't one hundred percent certain why, but there was a clear problem she had with my looks. It didn't seem like the normal problem I have. I've been painting myself up like this since I was twelve. My mother hated it and it wasn't until she died that I started going out in public painted up like this.

People find it odd. I'm not a moron. It's very obvious that not every one out there is covered in body art, especially at my age. For some reason far beyond my reasoning, this greatly disturbs people. Also the frequency in which I change the art work upsets them. Like if I were to simply make my designs permanent they could more easily become used to the art. I'm not sure if that theory is true, or something I've imagined up. Never the less, their disdain doesn't bother me, nor does their attention interest me. Though it does confuse me a little. I don't have a clue why they are so interested in my life that they'd try to change my appearance. I wouldn't even do that to someone I DID care about. My dad could wear a light up dress and a fluffy pink hat to work tomorrow and I couldn't find it in me to stop him. So why, if I wouldn't express this concern to someone so close to me as my father, do others seem so annoyed by my appearance? It baffles me every time I think about it… but it doesn't prompt me to change. I look this way for a reason. Not even Jade's staunch, furious disapproval makes me think about changing. Who was she to judge anyway? Black hair, colored streaks, dark make up and black nails seem just as bold of a statement as the one I'm making… I can't see why it's different.

Despite her best efforts though, I would not allow her to turn what I thought was a game into a war by loosing my temper. I followed her silently to the next class, watching the odd couple from a distance. They were taller than me... by a good bit, as everyone seems to be. With their long legs and determined pace, I had no choice but to fall behind. Well, I suppose I could have run, but I'd have looked ridiculous if I had. My only salvation was the fact that everyone seemed to worship the man attached to Jade's hand. Almost everyone we passed made it their business to greet him with a casual remark or some sort of a manly handshake/hug (I don't really have the slightest clue what men actually call that strange gesture). By the time we'd reached the door, it was all I could do to keep my breathing regular. How large was this school? I felt like I'd just run a mile. I slipped around my two line leaders towards the teacher's desk, their abrupt, agitated departure from one another didn't escape my attention.

This teacher was normal I suppose. I couldn't find anything that really singled him out. There was nothing special or extraordinary about him, and my interest slipped away from him almost as soon as he'd gotten it. "Your name is pronounced?" He mumbled, eyes on the paper before him. I give an automated response, turning my attention casually to my nails. "Right right. On- ya" He said it a few more times, cementing it there. "You'll need a partner for the project. Luckily for you, you aren't arriving too late in the year. Take a look around the room, I'll ask you for a decision later." That was the last thing he said to me. His attention had drifted as far from me as mine had from him at the beginning of the conversation. I took a seat next to Tori, who was beckoning with a happy smile and a waving hand. She proceeded to complain and apologize for her friend's behavior, adamantly supported by Beck, whom I knew by then was officially her boyfriend. When the end of the class came, I stood up and glanced straight over Jade'd head. She'd been staring down, but at the mention of her boyfriend, her head snapped up like a spring. I met her angry glare with calm passivity. With the sweetest smile I could, I winked in her direction and sat down. You want to play Jade? Game on.

* * *

** So I won't do another one like this I promise. But I thought it was really important to the story and your over all understanding of Áinethat you know her reaction to Jade since she's fairly secretive about her emotions at the moment, she doesn't know anyone well enough to let the out yet. I hope you like her, I think she's rather funny with all of her quirks and she will have a billion of them.**

**How was the writing style? Did you like it? It's how I naturally write, I try and force myself to write differently for Jade's part. Doesn't always work.**

**Oh if anyone is interested, I'm doing some Victorious reviews and soon I'll do some character analyses on youtube. If the link will work and you want to, check it out.**

** watch?v=TCKUaH01B_o**


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